Finding Dylan
by Oliviatheolive
Summary: At the age of 3, Gus Peterson-Marcus was abducted and was raised by his kidnapper, as Dylan Tanner. After an explosion, he learns that his whole life has been a lie. Dylan focuses on protecting the last remaining sibling of his real family. His biological family has other plans in mind, starting with leaving the past in the past, including his dying little brother. Kidnapped Gus!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Queer As Folk characters in this story. They belong to Showtime and Cowlips. No copyright infringement is at all intended and no money will be made.

The basis of the idea came from the show 'Finding Carter.' I thought it would be interesting to see how the Queer As Folk characters handled a child being kidnapped from their little family and then reemerging 10 years later.

Enjoy!

Dylan Tanner wakes up on March 15th with absolutely no idea that his life will be forever changed. No clue that the lie he's been living for the past 9 years is about to close in on itself. He's wishes he could've known, he would've marked it on his calendar, Dooms day, the day when everything becomes fucked up and screwed over. The day the people that matter the most to him suffer and die and it's all because he had absolutely no clue.

If he had known, he would've done things differently. He's sure of it.

It pisses him off that the last day with his family is so fucking typical, no different than Monday or Wednesday for the most part. He wakes up late, so late that his tired single mother, who has too many things to do in the morning has to come and wake him and Cody up for school, like their children.

He steals the shower from Rachel, even though she already had her towel and clothes in the bathroom first. When she begs from outside the door, " _Please don't use up all the hot water,"_ he does it anyway because he's in a really shitty mood. It was like his body knew that this was going to be a terrible day. So he sits on the toilet stool after showering and watches as the steam rises in the bathroom until there's no more warm water left. It gives off a calming effect.

After getting dressed in something uninteresting and non-noteworthy, he finds Mattie and Shannon in the kitchen making waffles with the toaster. His mother is staring at the raggedy refrigerator door with a frown. Papers are covered all over it with small letters but big stamps that say, 'PAST DUE.' Dylan knows any day now, something they need will be cut off.

He's about to snatch up a waffle when his mother turns around and spots him. She smiles at him in greeting but her overly lined face says her mind is on other things. Much more stressful things. She tells him that Rachel told her that he was able to walk Mattie home from school today. Though Dylan doesn't have any plans after school, he never has plans after school, he still gets pissed because he should have been asked first. Instead of getting mad at his mother, he blames Rachel. Obviously this is her form of revenge. Volunteer him for something he absolutely does not want to do. So he switches Rachel's packed sandwich, whose lactose intolerant, with Shannon's, his 11 year old sisters, but he makes sure not to disturb the color coded zip locked candies they hand out to their friends.

Rachel comes into the kitchen a couple minutes later looking like she's about to go to work on Wall Street and reviewing her notecards. She stands next to their mother and they couldn't look more different. Rachel in her world domination attire and his mother in her wrinkled Walmart uniform and wet hair. No one would ever believe that they are truly mother and daughter. Cody trails in behind her with wildly dyed bed hair and the same clothes he wore yesterday. Cody could've picked up Mattie, he's the oldest, Dylan thinks bitterly. As far as he knows, Cody and his loser friends never do anything interesting anyways after school.

Their mother tells Cody that he needs to come home early so that they can make another batch. Everyone's eyes stray to the refrigerator door covered in past due notices and clutch their packed lunch boxes like it's their ticket to surviving, which in a way it is. Cody nods, but Dylan and everyone else in the house know that he won't show up. He's the most unreliable person in their family.

Cody skates to school, mostly because he's too cool to ride with the rest of the family but also because their mother's 2000 Toyota Camry can only fit 4 people excluding the driver. Rachel always sits in the front while Dylan, Shannon and Mattie are cramped in the stained back seats. The only entertaining part of the ride is that every time Mattie starts singing along with the radio, Shannon and Dylan take turns hitting him in the back of his head or pinching his sides to shut him up.

Rachel gets dropped off first, though her high school is much farther away, because she has a very important presentation to practice for. She always has some very important assignment or test or presentation which is why she always gets dropped off first. Mom and Mattie wish her luck but Shannon and Dylan remain quiet and roll their eyes. The idea of Rachel doing bad on anything is ridiculous. No one is as much as a know-it-all and brown-noser as his oldest sister.

The kids in the back are dropped off next. Their schools are connected. So Mattie heads off to his class while Dylan and Shannon make their way to the middle school building after their mom reminds Dylan of his big brother duties. He doesn't even say goodbye to her or to his brother and sister when he leaves. He really wishes he would've now.

In Dylan's opinion school is a complete waste of time. Most of the subjects don't matter. English class stopped being relevant after he learned how to read and write. Will knowing the exact dates of when the civil war was fought really matter in his life if he gets a job as a grocer or a plumber? One time when Dylan and Shannon were going through Cody's and Rachel's things, Dylan found some piece of shit homework assignment buried in Cody's closest about the history of the shitty town they lived in. Why anyone would want to know anything other than how to get out of this hell hole, is a real head scratcher.

Mostly his class time consists of watching Mary from afar, at his locker he spies on her until it's time to go back to class, he passes notes with Shawn and Eric, eats lunch with his sister and his friends in the cafeteria, hands out candies and read's comic's during English, History, Spanish and Gym. Before he knows it a whole day passes by and the only relevant information he was able to obtain was from his science and math classes.

Shawn, Eric and Dylan go to pick up Mattie and they walk home together. Shawn and Eric live a couple streets over from him and hate walking home by themselves. Their small and easy prey, Dylan would know. He was there, hiding behind a tree, when his brother and his friends beat the shit out of Shawn and Eric and took their things, a year ago. Since Dylan befriended the small guys, no one messes with them. Although he's only a few inches taller than his friends and lanky, he's scrappy as hell in a fight.

When they get home, Mattie starts working on his homework at the kitchen table. Dylan instead heads to bed and goes to sleep. Having only two relevant classes' means having a ridiculously low amount of homework assignments. He doesn't wake back up until dinner time.

At 9pm is when everything goes to shit. Dinner has been ate, the dishes washed and the homework checked over and Cody is still not home. Dylan's mom is visibly pissed. She runs around the house with a Scooby doo night shirt on and her apron tied around her waist as she makes her way back and forth to the window and to the home phone, to check if he's called. When the clock strikes 10, Dylan and the rest of his siblings are sent off to bed. Rachel, in place of Cody, goes to the basement with mom to cook.

What happened next was entirely his fault. It was Dylan who got out of bed at 10:30 pm, who rushed to Shannon's room and told her Frankenstein would be on at 11pm. It was Dylan who was being so loud that he woke up Mattie, who then begged to watch TV with them. Dylan could have sent Mattie to bed but instead Shannon tells him to do 100 jumping jacks and only then will he be able to watch the movie. And by some miracle, his 7 year old brother, pulls it off.

Then Mattie collapses in a crumpled mess afterwards on their gray and disgusting carpet. He cries for Shannon or Dylan to get him water because he's too small to reach the sink and the cups are all in the top cupboards but they laugh at him. Now Dylan wishes he wasn't so much of an asshole but he ignores his brother and heads off to his room to find his Frankenstein comic and Shannon goes to the bathroom. Right when Dylan's about to snatch up his book from the bookshelf, there's a loud bang and then everything goes black.

He really wishes he would've done things differently.

Author comment: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Please give feedback! :D 2nd chapter will be available next week.

Here's a little preview:

" _Gus, baby, please wake up! I can't lose you after I just got you! Please baby, pull through."_

 _"_ _You are going wake up and be completely okay. Do you hear me sweetie? Mama and Mommie want you to wake up and be okay."_

 _"_ _Please baby!"_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Queer as Folk characters in this story. They belong to Showtime and Cowlip. No copyright infringement is at all intended and no money will be made.

 **Chapter 2**

" _Gus, baby, please wake up! I can't lose you after I just got you! Please baby, pull through."_

 _"_ _You're going wake up and be completely okay. Do you hear me sweetie? Mama and Mommie want you to wake up and be okay."_

 _"_ _Please baby!"_

 _"_ _Doctor Reynolds! Could we speak with you for a moment?"_

 _"_ _Of course,"_

 _"_ _It's just Gus hasn't woken up at all. We've been thinking maybe there's something else that's wrong with him. Something your team missed in surgery."_

 _"_ _I wouldn't worry about Gus not waking up, right now. We all respond differently to major surgery, but he should wake up either today or tomorrow. The surgery was a success Ms. Peterson, just try to hold out a little longer. If he doesn't wake up by tomorrow night, we can run some additional test and see what's taking him so long to recover. How does that sound?"_

 _"_ _I'm sorry Doctor Reynolds, we don't want to make it seem like we doubt you. It's just we're so anxious to meet our son again."_

 _"_ _Of course, of course…"_

 _"_ _I got another message from Brian,"_

 _"_ _Yeah?"_

 _"_ _He says his flight has been delayed again,"_

 _"_ _He must be pulling his hair out right now, I would be so upset if I was him."_

 _"_ _Yeah, me too."_

 _"_ _He sent me another message saying he's considering buying his own plane."_

 _"_ _He does have enough money,"_

 _"_ _What would that solve? The weather will still be too dangerous to fly in. We all want to see him but I think Gus would appreciate it if he's Dad didn't break his neck in order to do so."_

The first thing he takes note of in his mind, when he becomes conscious, are the loud beeps emitting from the machines behind his bed and then the hum of the building. Dylan knows as soon as he cracks an eye open and takes a glance around the room that he's in the hospital. It's easy to tell with the bland white walls, tiled floors, the machines monitoring his health and IV's hooked up to his arm. Even with the dozen of cheerful flowers and strange 'Welcome Home' balloons, it still scares him to be here, in this very empty room. The only people he knows that have been in hospital's are the ones that have died or were close to dying. He doesn't want to be either.

And Dylan knows why he's in the hospital. He remembers last night as if it were a bad dream. A nightmare he can't wake up screaming from and then it fades away, because it happened and it was all real. Too real. Dylan can recount every single moment of that day until he physically can't anymore. He can push his brain to call up insignificant moments in his life, like what Mr. Jacobson was teaching in English class, the songs they listened to on the radio that morning, the color of Shannon and Mattie's clothes that day and the dog he saw on his walk home from school.

Sometimes when his mind is idle, when he's not actively pushing further into his memory bank or focusing, he hears their screams.

The windowsill is packed with cards, balloons and flowers. He can't recall the last time he's had so many gifts, probably because it's never happened before. His mom could only afford to get them one or two presents for Christmas, even with the second job she picked up during the holidays. Dylan wonders if Mrs. Blundell, his math teacher, got the whole class to send him something, like they did for Fiona when she broke her arm last Christmas. That puts a grin on his face.

He notices a big drawing perched in the front of all the gifts. Dylan thinks its Mattie's at first. His youngest brother still draws like a four year old, making stick figures with abnormally large heads and thin bodies. It isn't until he takes a closer look and notices that there are three stick figures holding hands. One with orange crayon hair and wearing a pink square dress, the second one with black hair and wearing a purple dress and the other remarkably taller with dark brown hair. And then written in almost indecipherable scrawl, 'Miss you. Cant wate two play withe you. Lov, Sarah and JR.'

Dylan knows one Sarah and she's not in his math class. Even if she were, she wouldn't do anything as dumb as spell 'wait' wrong or use the incorrect 'two.' Sarah's way too smart for simple mistakes like those. Dylan doesn't believe that there are any JR's in his whole year maybe even in the school. Most likely, he thinks that Sarah and JR left their drawing in the wrong room by accident, because he doesn't know them.

He's about to try and inspect some of the other cards from his bed when his hospital door swings open. Dylan feels himself clinch up and duck down as if he were in need of protecting. As if the door would explode from its hinges and the room would start to collapse within itself, except none of it happens. Instead two women, a tall blonde and a shorter brunette, argue as they make their way into his room.

"You know, it just baffles me how you can imagine working at a time like this," the tall blonde says to the brunette. Dylan isn't sure how he knows she's angry, but he can just tell. Whenever his mother gets upset at one of them, she yells but this strange woman, who's invaded his room, doesn't even raise her voice. If it weren't for her sharp tongue, he would almost believe she sounded pleasant.

The blonde pushes into the room and doesn't bother to hold the door for the brunette, who's carrying twice the load of bags than the blonde, before sauntering over to the chair next to Dylan's bed. Dylan catches the frustrated glare the brunette shoots her before she maneuvers into the room without help. Dylan sits up a little more in his bed and waits patiently for one of them to notice him. He hasn't had company in hours and frankly he's a little lonely. Dylan knows how to call for a nurse, he's seen it a million times on TV shows like Grey's Anatomy, but he's nervous about what he'll discover about his family. He's not ready to know why none of them are in his room waiting for him to wake up. So he sits up in bed and watches the two strange women argue.

"Our son comes back and you can't even be bothered to take a week off from work!"

"Which part is exactly confusing you, Lindsay? Is it the part where I told you I can't afford to take a week off with the case I'm on and expect my job to still be there when I get back or that our family can't afford both of us taking off from work?" The brunette fires back with a glare.

The blonde begins to unbutton her long tan winter coat, cheeks stained red, body slightly shaking in anger but the brunette doesn't even bother with any of it. She stands there facing the blonde, shoulders tense, feet spread hip width apart as if she's gunning herself up for the real battle.

Dylan has never in his life witnessed such an intense argument between two people that didn't lead into some kind of fist fight. Which is why he's sitting in his hospital bed in complete amazement that after 5 minutes, both women are still going as it without one fist being thrown. At first, Dylan thinks they must be sisters. His mother used to tell them all the time, we protect family, we don't hurt them. They have to be family to last this long in an argument without hurting the other person with their fist, Dylan reasons, but then he catches onto the fact that they keep referring to whoever their arguing over as 'our son' which would suggest that they share a son, but it's a little confusing because he isn't exactly sure who the mother is.

Though to be fair one of them could be the real mother and the other could be the step-mother. Dylan is betting that the blonde, Lindsay is the step-mother and the brunette is the real mother, but that can't be right. He picks up on a few more snatches of their conversation which is how he learns that they have two daughters and a son, how they're supposed be having more family time but the brunette has taken on more work, and how much their home cost. Dylan now has a very strong inkling that these woman are _together together_ and they're real gay. Not like Bobby Sterne, the kid that everyone in his class called gay, but like real gay.

Which is kind of strange to him. The whole concept of gay doesn't really make sense to him and gay parents kind of boggles him. He's seen gay people on TV shows and the news but Dylan doesn't know anyone in his small town who has two moms or two dads. Maybe in the sense of 'I have a dad and a step dad' but not at all like 'I have two dads who are together and they take care of me.'

He wonders if there are any advantages or benefits of having two parents who are of the same sex. He wants to say extra care and affection, especially in a large family like his, but wouldn't any two parents no matter their sex be able to give care and affection? Possibly this is just an advantage of being raised in a two parent household. Something Dylan has never known, on the account of his father dying when he was young.

One advantage of growing up in a single parent household is that there's no crazy and intense fights between mom and dad over insignificant things such as taking time off of work. Dylan pities their poor kids if this is what they have to listen to everyday. He would take his single mother over their arguing any day.

"I promised you this before, but I'll say it again if I have to. After this case, we will have all the family time we can dream of. I promise you! I just need to finish things with this last client, okay?"

Lindsay scoffs, legs and arms cross while sitting in one of the visitors chairs, "I won't hold my breath."

The brunette drags an irritated hand through her dark hair and groans, "Dammit Linds, I'm not going to let you use me and make me feel any less than a mother than you because you're frustrated and scared. News flash that's how I feel every time I walk into this damn hospital and see our kid- who we haven't seen in 9 fucking years lying in a hospital b-b-"

She abruptly stops talking. Her mouth now unable to form any other words except, "Oh." Brown eyes widen almost comically as they lock onto blue ones. She stares at him like she knows him and maybe she does. Dylan is just beginning to wonder if the brunette and Lindsay hadn't made a mistake coming to his room after all. They must know him, they have to. The brunette and Lindsay could be his mother's old friends from when she used to tour around the country with that band she loved, or they could be distant relatives that his mother is on good terms with, coming to check up on him by her request. He struggles to sit up taller in his bed, so that they can get a good look at him. Both women rush over to help him up but the blonde, Lindsay stares at him with eyes full of tears and pets his messy hair softly.

It only takes one word to shatter any hope of his mother sending friends or family members to check up on him, and that word is, "Gus."

Because that's definitely not his name.

 **Chapter notes**

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'll try to update next week by Tuesday or Wednesday!

Preview

"Which one of them is my-my- you know?" He ask with a slight shrug, refusing meet her eyes. Dylan doesn't want to call either of those women his mother, but he hopes Ms. Jordan realizes what he's trying to ask. He isn't in the mood to explain any further than he has to. Honestly, Dylan doesn't know why he wants to know which one of them is his supposed "real mother" but deep down somewhere he cares.

She pats his shoulder and says, "that's for you to ask your parents." _Of course it is._

Dylan rolls his eyes, "they're not my parents."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"So what you're saying is that this baby's handprints match mine and that makes him, me, right?" He's surprised how much anger he discovers in his voice. He thought, or more so dreaded, that when the pretty brown skinned social worker led him into the conference room to 'talk', he feared that the evidence would be so overwhelming, so devastating that it would not only bring himself to tears but also his life to shambles.

But fingerprints? If this was the only true evidence they had to link him to this other person, then they could shove it.

He grips the armrest of his wheelchair tightly for support and sends a glare to the adults in the room. Dylan's sitting in an overly large conference room surrounded by his head surgeon, a detective and a social worker. The room looks like it was specifically built for being told life shattering news like the kind he's receiving now. Nicely decorated furniture, a smooth long wood table with plush chairs and glass windows that you can stare out and contemplate throwing yourself out of one of them.

The adults nod back at him stiffly, waiting for him to come to the obvious conclusion that they're right, but Dylan isn't nearly convinced of what they're trying to sell him, that his mother is his kidnapper. It's going to take a lot more than a thin sheet of paper with baby prints to convince him.

"But that's bullshit," he tells them. He sees the doctor bristle back from his language and the detective frowns disapprovingly but Dylan doesn't give a shit right now about what they fucking think. They're accusing his mother of a crime that two lesbians happened to make up because they're starving for a son. "Its baby prints. Couldn't it just be a mistake and we just happen to have the same prints?

"Gus, hand and-"

"Dylan! My name is Dylan." He corrects the doctor with a snarl.

"Dylan," he amends, "I'm sorry, Dylan, but fingerprints are unique. Each one is completely different than the next and belongs to only one person. No two people can have the exact same prints. Not even identical twins," Dr. Reynolds explains.

Dylan shakes his head, still not convinced. He isn't an expert on fingerprints nor is he a doctor or a detective but he remembers reading something in a book or watching on the news about how unreliable fingerprints can be. Yeah sure, the doctor could be right but it can also be said that a person can never reproduce the exact same prints the next time even if they wait just 10 seconds later, they wouldn't be alike in every detail. There are tons of cases where innocent people have been wrongly accused of crimes or singled out because of fingerprints. There isn't enough evidence out there that demonstrates that fingerprints are reliable enough to prove anything. Now they're trying to tell him that these prints from a _baby_ from God knows how many years ago, are the same as his. He doesn't fucking buy any of it.

"But isn't it true Detective that if you take a person's prints and then take a second copy. The first and second copy won't be exactly the same either? Me and this other guy could just have really similar prints, but that doesn't make me this Gus guy." Dylan fires back, turning to Detective Bailey sitting to the left of him. She's been tight lipped and distant for the last 20 minutes, letting the doctor and the social worker dominate the conversation. Dylan is determined to draw her out if that means he gets to win this argument, if he gets to keep his life. "If baby fingerprints are the only evidence you have to link me to this other person then I can't believe anything that's coming out of your fucking mouths because it's not enough to prove anything," he informs them.

Dylan takes their silence as a win. He thinks he might have convinced them or at least made them doubt themselves, but when he glances up at their faces he doesn't see contemplation or confusion but instead pity. Pity raining down on him from strangers and it makes him cringe.

"Dylan, you're completely right," the detective says. Her voice too sickly sweet and too calm. He knows that what she's about to say is going be a game changer, a reactor, an explosion to his already dismantled life. "Fingerprint samples aren't enough to prove anything, which is why I had one of the nurse's take samples of your blood after your fingerprints can up as a match for Gus Peterson-Marcus." She slides the blue folder across the table to him. "In this folder you will find that you are indeed Gus Peterson-Marcus."

He could argue until he turned blue in the face about fingerprints and convicted innocent people but in the face of DNA and blood, that was an argument he was not prepared to have. Dylan sat there in his wheelchair for a couple of seconds staring down at the blue folder that read on the side, in black letters 'PETERSON-MARCUS, GUS'. He couldn't summon the strength to open it and that made him feel weak and ashamed. So it lay there untouched. He considered his next move or next response to this surprise element to his crumbling life – or should he say 'crumbling lie of a life', but he had no clue what to do next.

When he looks up from the blue folder he finds Ms. Montgomery, the social worker, smiling down at him sadly. One of her bony warm brown hands wrap around his and squeezes. It's almost comforting.

"This must be so difficult for you to even wrap your mind around the possibility of you not being who you've always been. I-" she breaks off with a sigh. Dylan realizes he can't look at her pretty heart shaped face without feeling his cheeks burn and his eyes sting. So he looks at her collar instead, pleading in his mind for her to just stop talking. He can't deal with her soft voice or her warm hands right now.

"We're not here to confuse you or to make your life any harder than it has been or as it has been these last couple of days. Everyone in this room is here for you and is here to help you. So Dylan, what can we do for you?"

He doesn't even have to consider the question. "I want to see my mom."

The meeting with Doctor Reynolds, Detective Bailey and Ms. Montgomery seems to fly by pretty fast after the life detonator that was dropped into his lap. His doctor updates him on his condition. Apparently he cracked his head on something ridiculously hard during the explosion that took 2 different complex brain surgeries to bring him back to full health and a sprained arm. Dylan's first surgery was back in West Virginia, immediately after the explosion and the second surgery in Pittsburgh at the current hospital.

At this news, Dylan quietly seethes in his seat in annoyance that no one thought it would be a good idea to at least inform him that he was no longer residing in his home state. He wonders aloud to the adults in the room if his mother and siblings are still in West Virginia or if they travelled with him to Pennsylvania. The response, of course, is the same one he received after demanding to see his mother: "We'll have to speak with your parents first before we can release any information." So he sits back in his wheelchair in silence and lets the adults continue to drone on about him.

After a good 15 to 20 minutes, Doctor Reynolds finally finishes his very long and overly drawn out story of Dylan's medical surgery. Instead of the story making him feel warm and fuzzy feelings towards the Doctor for saving his life, Dylan finds himself wishing that he would have died on the table rather than endure another second of his minute by minute account. He's a bit frustrated and pissed off because there's a lack of relevant information floating around in the room. Who gives two shits about the perfect steps and techniques the Doctor made while fixing him? The only thing that truly matters is if his family survived. Dylan's having a difficult time trying to steer his mind away from over the thought of how bad his sisters, brothers, and mom's condition must be that the detective, doctor and social worker have to get permission from his "parents" in order to tell him anything about them.

The detective takes over the meeting after the doctor finishes prattling on. Dylan had hoped that the detective would let something slip about his family but she doesn't give up any information. She instead questions him for 15 minutes straight over what his mom does for a living, if she ever abused him or made him do things that he didn't want to do or not liked. Dylan's pretty sure that Bailey was doing a lot more than just DNA samples on him while he was unconscious because after 10 minutes into the questioning, she begins to ask him about the little candies he gave away at school. Dylan, as loyal as ever, even with all the evidence stacked against his mother, denies all accusations against her. The detective crosses her arms in menacing manner and stills her blue eyes at him sternly. She knows he's lying.

Yeah, it was true that his mom had him and his sibling sell drugs but that didn't make her a bad mother. Dylan wanted to explain to Detective Bailey that his mother did what she had to do because she loved them and wanted to take care of them. There's so many mothers in the world who drop out of their kids' lives or dump their kids on other people doorsteps when things start to get tough, but not his mother. His mom was made out of sterner stuff, she knew which hard choices to take and which ones would get you killed. She shouldn't have to suffer because she was trying to provide for her children when everyone else had turned their backs on them.

As Dylan's eyes land on the blue folder, sitting directly in front of him, he begins to wonder why? If she wasn't really his mother then why would she go through the struggle of taking care of him? Let's assume that evidence in the blue folder was genuine, if he was kidnapped, what did that make his siblings? Were they his mother's or someone else's? What person would voluntarily take care of 5 children, when your only source of income was your full-time job at Walmart? None of this made sense. It seemed like the more information he received, the more the questions grew. One thing he knows for sure, is things will never go back to normal.

Presently, Dylan's stuck in a hard place of wanting to believe his mother is the saint of all mother's while questioning her true motives. He stopped answering questions. It was obvious by the direction of the questioning and the heavy frown on Bailey's face that she wouldn't understand anything that he was going through. She didn't even look like she wanted to be bothered with him, like working with Dylan was beneath her.

A loud beep emitted from the room. It was the Doctor's pager going off.

"Oh, that's me!" The doctor said with a start. "I can't stick around much longer, I'm being called away for a consult." Studying the message on his pager. Dylan rolled his eyes. He didn't care if the doctor left or stayed. He wasn't all that important to him. He served his purpose and now he could leave. The man whirls out of the room, promising Dylan that he would meet up with him later. Dylan once again rolls his eyes and turns back to the detective.

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline when he sees the slight frown she's wearing. Her thin chapped lips curl up in distaste as if she smelled something funky or witnessed something truly disgusting. Dylan first thought is that she's having a similar reaction as he is to the doctor, but her eyes tell as a different story. They seem to linger a little too long on Dylan's, and he'll swear up and down that he picked up on the ever so slight shake of her head at him, in disappointment, most likely.

The detective shuffles the papers around in her hands and arranges them in a clean, orderly pile before picking out the sheet of notes she left off on.

"Well then," she said looking down at the questions, "should we continue?"

He hasn't answered a question in the last 10 minutes after deciding that he would rather not help build a case against his mother, kidnapped or not….

"Actually detective, I think this would be a great place for us to end." The soft voice says from his right side. "Dylan needs his rest and his parents are probably worried sick about him."

The detective shots the social worker with a glare, not as menacing as the one that she gave him, but still pretty lethal. He doesn't know how the soft-spoken social worker managed to hold her ground, several moments later the detective mutters with a tired sigh, "Fine, we'll stop here. I've got all the information I need anyways." She says coarsely and begins gathering up her papers and pens. "If you remember _anything_ , you can reach me from this number." She hands him her card with her name and several numbers printed on it. He wonders briefly who in the world needs so many phones before he finds his hand shook roughly by Bailey and watching her storm out of the room in a hurry.

"Well that meeting went a lot longer than I expected." Ms. Montgomery says into the now silent room. "How about we get you back to your room? Are you hungry or tired?" She lays her hand on his shoulder and squeezes like she did earlier. Dylan knocks her hand off. He doesn't need her comfort.

Ms. Montgomery wheels him down the hallway back to his room even though Dylan insists that he can push himself. Ms. Montgomery isn't having any of it. She told him that any unnecessary strain on his body could led him back to the operation table or permanently gorked. Well, she said it in a more kind and kid friendly way but Dylan got her meaning and stopped all forms of whining. Instead he used his free ride as an opportunity to spy into other people's rooms and look around for signs of his family on the surgical floor.

He mistook a few people for his youngest siblings, Shannon and Mattie. He spotted a young girl with dark brown hair like his own back in room 413 that could've been his sister except their voices were completely different. Dylan couldn't remember a time when his sister had called their mom, "mommy." She was way to cool for that.

There was a boy that walked right by him down the hall that looked just like his brother. Same eyes, face, and stupid kid hair, but when Dylan yelled his name several times, over and over. The social worker had to tell him 3 times to stop yelling before he complies. His mind must have been playing tricks on him because when the kid does turn around, not because it's his name but because of Dylan's yelling. He doesn't anything like his brother. From his hair to his size. He's the total opposite of Mattie. His mind must be playing tricks on him.

They arrive back to his room faster than he expected. He wanted more time to search the floor, he needs more time to search every single room and every single floor. He didn't know when he would get another opportunity to be outside his room again, he needs to know if they are alive. If there was fighting chance that he would be able to talk or see anyone of them.

The social worker begins to reach for the knob and Dylan can see through the glass panels of the yellowish wooden door that both of the crazed lesbo's are in his room. Great! He thinks bitterly, more fighting.

Without even thinking, Dylan kicks his bare legs up onto the door frame, barring him from being wheeled into the room.

"Dylan, please put your feet down." The social worker tells him calmly.

"No! I don't wanna go back to them!"

"Dylan…"

"No, no, no. You can't make me. I don't want to be with them. I want my family."

"Dylan," she starts again. He feels her move from behind his wheelchair. She crouches down to his level and stares at him with a sad look on her face. "Dylan I would never want to make you do something you absolutely don't want to do."

He stays quiet.

"But unfortunately I'm not allowed to take you to your other family yet until I get permission from your mothers." Dylan huffs not at all satisfied. He knows that he's acting like a grade A brat, and if his mother was here, she would beat the crap out of him for giving another adult lip, but he can't help it. He wants his family.

"That's not fair! They're nothing to me, why do they get to decide things like that?"

"Because they have custody and technically you belong to them. I was planning on dropping you off and meeting with your parents to discuss with them the option of letting you see your other family, but if you think they shouldn't even have the right to decide, then I won't."

Dylan pauses. He still agrees that the lesbo's shouldn't have the right to make important decisions like this. They don't even really know him, but if the social worker can convince them to let him see his parents. What would the harm be in that? He could throw his plan to search every floor and every room out of the room. Dylan knows for sure that his doctor and social worker would approve.

"Okay," he says, feeling as though he's giving up something a lot greater than his defiance. He just hopes that none of this will blow up in his face. "You can meet with them."

At the corner of the hospital station a few feet away from it, he sees someone hiding behind one of the pillars with the same dark brown hair and blue eyes as his own. Someone he hasn't thought about all day. He feels his heart drop, his eyes quiver, and his stomach turns, because now he has someone. Someone he hasn't thought about at all but he's so damn happy to see anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Queer as Folk characters in this story. They belong to Showtime and Cowlip. No copyright infringement is at all intended and no money will be made.

 **Chapter 4**

Dylan drops his legs from the door frame and slumps down in his seat after agreeing with the social worker. If anyone were to walk by, they would likely assume from the downcast expression marring Dylan's face and the demeanor of his body language, that he was being forced to do something that he did not want to do. Which isn't far from the truth at all.

Dylan does manage to take a quick glance over to the hospital station pillars again, eyes searching earnestly for his brother before he's wheeled into his hospital room, but he finds the spot empty. Perhaps his mind is playing tricks on. Making him see things and people that aren't really there. That can't be a good sign, right? Dylan is willing to bet that his boastful doctor didn't perform as much of a successful surgery as he claims.

Unfortunately he isn't able to speculate over what could be causing him to see things or the consequences of a botched surgery because as soon as he enters the room, Lindsay comes barreling over to him in a hurry.

"Thank goodness you're back!" She exclaims, crouching down at his level, hands lightly fluttering over his body as if she's resisting the urge to grab ahold of him and never let him go. But she doesn't touch him, most likely fearing the repercussions.

Instead her eyes roam over his face hungrily, taking in his downcast expression, pale parlor and sunken eyes. "You're tired?"

Dylan shrugs and avoids eye contact, finding comfort in staring at his hospital slippers. He hates looking at her, especially when she's like this, all anxious and worried. Acting like an overly distraught parent. It brings up parts of his past that he would rather not think about, it makes him feel guilty, for once wanting someone like her.

"You must be tired!" She pushes, "You've been gone for ages. What took so long?" Lindsay's eyes are on Dylan but her question is pointedly asked to the social worker.

Ms. Montgomery clears her throat, "It…took…a little longer than we anticipated-"

Lindsay eyebrows draw together, "Not easily convinced, were you?"

Dylan hesitates. He's not exactly sure how he should go about answering this question without ruining his chances of seeing his mom again. He wants to stay in the lesbian's good graces but he's afraid that if he reveals that it took the adults ¾ths of their meeting to convince Dylan that there is a slight chance that he _may_ have been kidnapped. Lindsay will hold off on letting him see his mom. So that they'll have more time to persuade him of being Gus. He's sure of it.

But Dylan doesn't even get to answer the question. He notices that a small smile begins to spread on Lindsay's pale face. "Of course you were!" she says warmly. "You're the son of an artist, an ad man, and a lawyer. It's in your blood to question and to be curious. I wouldn't expect anything less than skepticism from you."

An artist, an ad man and a lawyer? The only thing Dylan can think about right now is 'who the hell is this third person?'

But Dylan doesn't get the chance to ruminate over his 3rd or 4th parent because Lindsay delicately picks up his hand. The same hand the social worker held an hour earlier. Lindsay's hands are warm and as soft as cream. Dylan finds his cold body with nothing but a thin hospital gown for protection, involuntarily moving closer to this new source of warmth.

Lindsay beams at him when he doesn't yank his hand away. He has already convinced himself that he's letting Lindsay get away with this small act of affection not because he feels touched by her concern for him but for purely selfish reasons. He's cold and he's hoping his compliance and good behavior will lead her to allowing him to see his mom. The end.

"I'm sorry about the meeting going longer than we intended, Mrs. Peterson-Marcus. We should had someone come and update you on things." Lindsay's eyes finally tear away from his face to give her attention to the social worker.

"It's fine and call me Lindsay, Patricia. After everything you've done for my family, I feel like we can drop the formalities." Ms. Montgomery smiles back and nods. Dylan can't help but think of how this new budding relationship between Lindsay and _his_ social worker will affect his chances of seeing his family. He hopes that Ms. Montgomery will uphold her end of the agreement and talk to the imposters. Dylan tries to make eye contact with her a few times, as to remind her of their deal, but she rarely looks over at him.

"Gus, were you able to ask all the questions that you wanted?" Lindsay asks.

Dylan grinds down on his teeth in annoyance at being called 'Gus,' but he hums an agreement anyway to Lindsay.

Her hands start to move up and down his arms, warming him up even more. "Good. How about we get you into bed? You're colder than Alaska." Dylan couldn't agree more.

"Lindsay, I was meaning to ask you if I could set up a meeting with you and your partner, Melanie?" Ms. Montgomery asks. Dylan sighs, _finally._ "There's still some things that I need to discuss privately with the two of you."

"Yes, of course. Is it something serious? Is Gus ok?"

"Nothing like that," she reassures her, "just some concerns that came up during the meeting that we should talk about."

Lindsay nods back urgently. "Mel will be back tomorrow morning at 9, is that a good time?"

"I'll double check my schedule, but I'm almost positive that'll work."

"Perfect."

Dylan can only hope that he'll see his mom at 10.

After dinner, and long after Lindsay finishes pitter pattering around the room, talking about people and things that Dylan doesn't give two fucks about, they settle down and quietly watch a movie together. As Dylan snuggles down into the sterile hospital bed and covers, he thinks, _this is the best part about my day_. Watching some silly little Adam Sandler movie and laughing weakly to his jokes.

Somewhere around 9pm, Dylan starts to have a hard time keeping himself wide-awake. He wants to finish the movie, so when he looks back on this day, he won't think of it as the day when everything became fucked up and screwed over. He wants one silver lining or positive thing to say about it, instead all the shit he's packing in his arsenal. But without his consent his eyes hang half-lidded, only catching a few scenes as they begin the deadly dance of open or shut.

When he regains consciousness again, Lindsay is bedside him, sitting in the chair next to his bed. He must have been sleeping because he can't remember her moving the short distance to come sit next to him. The room is a lot darker than it was before. All the lights have been shut off except for the TV in the background, casting wicked shadows over the furniture. If Dylan were younger, he might have been scared, but he's 12 now and things like that don't faze him, so he returns his attention back to Lindsay.

Her dark eyes stare down at him, full of unreleased tears and a dazzling smile playing on her lips. "I'm so happy that you're finally back," she whispers and lightly rubs the back of her hand to his cheek. "You know, I prayed and prayed for you to come home. I'm not even religious," she says with a quiet laugh, "but I was willing to try anything if that meant I could get the chance to see you one more time."

His eyes fall shut again. He thinks it has something to do with the dark room, Lindsay's soothing voice, and the gentle warmth of her hands. Whatever it is, he can't keep his eyes open any longer, but he can still hear her. She continues to rub his cheek every so often with her warm hands, "we're all just so happy that you're finally back. You don't know how much it broke me to-"

Her hands travel down to his sheet and blanket. Lindsay yanks them up and pulls them up to his chin and tucks him in. She pats down the covers around his sides and pumps up his pillow, and then goes to find the remote. She discovers it by her side of the room, underneath a couple of magazines. As soon as she has it, she promptly turns off the TV.

It's completely dark and quiet around the room, if you don't count the humming machines behind his bed, but they're easy enough to discount.

She sits back down beside Dylan now and watches him rest. Just like the night before and the night before that, she observes the rising and falling of his chest, the twitch of his nose, and listens in for the machines monitoring his heartbeat.

Just as he's about to fall asleep, Lindsay kisses the only part of his forehead which isn't wrapped in bandages and with a whisper, he hears her say, "Even though it's the worst day of your life, it's the best day of mine. And I'm so sorry for that."

Dylan feels like he's been asleep for only 10 minutes when he's roughly awakened. His body being moved and jostled without his control. He tries to say, "what's going on?" but the only thing that he manages to spit out of his dry and sleep deprived mouth is a mumbled, "whaaa?" in a voice much deeper than his own.

He's a little startled when he wakes up and sees Melanie sitting by the window with a light smile playing over her lips and her kind but tired eyes staring down at him. He half expected to find Lindsay stationed next to his bed, never a few feet away from him, on guard duty this morning. He's pleasantly shocked to find this not to be true. He was getting tired of her overactive hands and lips finding their way to his cheeks and hair.

"Good morning," she says.

He nods back at her and mumbles, "'Morning," and tries to sit up by himself. He struggles a bit because he's only working with one arm on the account of his other is in remission from the accident that took place a few days ago. He sees Melanie sit her mug down on the windowsill before making her way over. When she reaches his side, she doesn't waste any time grabbing ahold of him, there's no hesitant touches or second guessing herself. Melanie's all business. She lifts him up until he's in a high enough position and then steps back. No lingering touches or anything.

"You good?"

"Yeah," says Dylan, followed by a quick nod and then settles more comfortably into his bed. He takes a quick glance around the room. He assumed Lindsay would be curled up in one of the chairs in the corner, fast asleep or maybe in the bathroom. Except the chair in the corner is empty and the bathroom door is wide open and when he cranes his neck to the left, he sees no inhabitants.

"She left," he hears Melanie say and Dylan's stomach plummets to the ground at being caught searching for Lindsay, as if he cares. He doesn't. He just likes the idea of keeping tabs on them. Keep your enemies close and all that. He thinks about covering up his embarrassment with an excuse, but all the ones that he can think of are flimsy at best and he doesn't believe Melanie will buy any of them. She's different from Lindsay, a lot different. They're almost complete opposites.

Whereas Lindsay is round, soft and pale, Melanie is tan with sharp angles. Sharp eyes, sharp face and sharp thin body, but not the type that would be easily blown away at the first sight of a storm. Nothing about Melanie seems weak willed or feeble, if anything everything about her screams fighter. From the few words she's spoken to him from yesterday and by her behaviors and mannerism, he can tell she's straight forward and business, no talk and dance bullshit.

She actually reminds Dylan of himself, thin and lanky but scrappy as hell.

"She went to grab you something to eat," Melanie follows up. Without his consent Dylan's stomach roars with hunger at the thought of food. He can barely remember what he ate for dinner or if he had dinner at all. Dylan certainly isn't a stranger to going to bed without food, either for punishment, lack of food in the house or sometimes a mixture of both. But he was willing to bet everything he owned, which wasn't a lot at this point, that he did eat before bed. Lindsay seems like the overbearing type that wouldn't allow any child to go to bed hungry.

Melanie cracks a smile this time. A real one, with teeth showing and lips thinning at the sound of his overly anxious stomach. She's sitting down in her seat by the window with a maroon colored mug hanging precariously from her left hand. The mug is old, he can tell from the chips and dents of the exterior that almost makes the big block letters on the side illegible, but Dylan is able to read with childish stubbornness, 'save the dolphins,' and snorts. He hopes for their sake that they aren't tree hugging, vegetarian, lesbian hippies because he's not going to have any of it.

With a slight laugh she asks, "You must be really hungry?" Dylan nods and watches as Melanie pulls her brown leather briefcase onto her lap. "I think I might have something in here for you," she murmurs while she rummages around.

Dylan recalls Lindsay mentioning him being a son of an ad man, an artist and a lawyer, and wonders briefly if Melanie is the lawyer she was referencing. He can't exactly remember if ad men carry briefcases or not but he knows for sure that lawyers definitely do, from the many crime and detective shows he watches with his mom. Melanie certainly has the look of a lawyer. She has that educated but tough look about her. She's even dressed like one, wearing a gray paint suit with a soft pink shirt underneath her jacket with black low heels. Actually she sort of resembles his sister Rachel when's she's trying to conquer the world.

"Are you lawyer?" he hears himself blurt out at the same time as Melanie unearths out a brown spotted banana and tosses it over to him. Dylan had every intention of catching the yellow fruit but the banana flew through his fingers. He blames brain surgery and yanks the banana up from the edge of his hospital bed.

"Yeah, I am." Dylan checks the banana over for mold, and other signs of life forms. "I promise I didn't tamper with it," he hears Melanie say in a tone that sounds more amused than upset.

Dylan blushes again, "I didn't think you did," and hastily peels the banana and takes a bite.

"Are you interested in becoming a lawyer?"

Dylan shrugs.

Melanie continues, "I heard about your meeting yesterday." Dylan swallows heavily. He hadn't expected to hear that. He anxiously casts a side eye at Melanie to detect how pissed she is, but instead of seeing a face slighted in anger, he finds a grin there instead, with an expression Dylan can only describe as proud. "The doctor stopped by earlier this morning," answering his unasked question. "He said you handled things like a champ. He said you really advocated for yourself. Sounds like the beginnings of a lawyer to me." She finishes off with her proud grin still intact.

Dylan shrugs and continues to eat.

Melanie seems to misinterpret his silence with disapproval of her chosen career choice. "Or you could make a great ad man like your father or a- uh artist…"

Silence

"That's not to say that you wouldn't do wonderfully in other jobs…"

Silence.

"If you had something…eh, else in mind," she says lamely.

He would like to think that when he was younger and actually paid attention to all his classes and did his work that he never entertained the idea of being a lawyer, because kids like him, from families like the one he was raised in and from small towns like the one he grew up in, don't become lawyers, artist or ad men for that matter. They're much better suited to work in the local grocery store, become a plumber or work in construction, but to become a lawyer…

yeah right.

After breakfast, Lindsay and Melanie spend the rest of their remaining time before the meeting showing Dylan pictures of his new little sisters. At the suggestion of the slideshow, Dylan did contemplate vetoing the idea and saying something possibly rude and snarky about his "little sisters" but with the hour of 9 slowly approaching, Dylan didn't want to risk his chances. He could hold his tongue for 15 more minutes if it meant seeing his family at 10 or whenever they returned.

He isn't exactly sure how he ended up in the position he's in right now, sharing _his_ bed and pillows with the blonde, cuddling up against each other and one of her impossibly long arms wrapped around his shoulders, like the Queen of Leeches he knows her to be. And **maybe** , _possibly_ , his head is **_perhaps_** touching her left shoulder, anyways that's how their situated. Melanie, sensible Melanie, choose to drag her chair from the window up to his bed. Only when it's her turn to share a picture does she lean ever so slightly onto his bed, so that he can get a better look of the photo but there's still a comfortable distance between them, a respectable distance, because really their all still strangers. Well they're strangers to him, that's for sure.

"See!" Lindsay says grabbing ahold of his right arm, "this is JR at ballet." Dylan glances fleetingly at a picture of a little girl, a bit older than Mattie, with long black hair wearing a pink tutu and white stockings smiling up at the camera.

"Adorable, isn't she?" Dylan hears Melanie murmur, smiling softly at the bright screen. Dylan nods his head, not in agreement, although the little girl is pretty, but to signal to that they can move on to the next picture.

"Here's another," and Melanie maneuvers her own phone into Dylan's field of vision.

This picture shows the same two little girls who starred in the last dozen or so photos, this time with rose colored cheeks wearing heavy coats, knit hats, and large woolly mittens. They're ice-skating now. An activity Dylan has never gotten the chance to experience in own little town, but seen multiple times on TV to recognize what they are doing.

Dylan is quite amazed at how the camera manages to capture the unmistakable glee of one sister and the sorrow of another. JR, a bright eyed girl, with long dark hair and a wide mouth, wears a lavender pleated coat with a matching purple knit hat, mittens and black stockings as she races around the rink with a carefree and happy Lindsay trailing behind her. In the corner of the photo though, almost passed over, as one's eyes are immediately drawn to the mother and daughter, is Sarah.

Sarah Peterson-Marcus is supposedly his youngest sibling. A 5 year old little runt with short red hair, too many freckles and a quiet pleasant disposition about her, as described by the lesbians. Sarah isn't nearly as pretty as JR. Well, she isn't ugly either. She's still in that babyish-child stage where you look like a child but you kind of look like a toddler too because of the baby fat and the impossibly large eyes. Sarah's adorable in that way. JR though, which frankly Dylan think is a really stupid name, looks a few years younger than him and Dylan's willing to guess that she'll have guys at her beck and call when she reaches 7th grade.

In this picture, Sarah, with her distraught looking pig tails and pale tear stained face, is being carried off the rink by a man with chestnut colored hair like his own and hazel eyes like the red head. Sarah must have taken a tumble on the rink, but Dylan isn't exactly concerned with the well-being of his newly acquired sister but instead with the man carrying her. A man who seems almost familiar.

"Who's that?" Dylan asks glancing up at Melanie, pointing a tentative finger at the man holding Sarah. This man is slim and tall, with a head full of hair and a light beard shadowing his face.

He feels Lindsay lean in closer to him, "that's you father, sweetie"

"My father?" Dylan asks in an unsure voice, his mind running in circles, "but I thought you were lesbians?"

Lindsay's soft hands go still on his shoulder and Dylan watches from the corner of his eyes as a surprised look settles on her face.

A few tentative seconds pass by in silence until finally Melanie answers, "we are." There's a smile playing upon her lips, which Dylan is sad to realize that he's becoming acquainted with because he's seen it before, pride. As if she's proud with Dylan's deduction of their obvious coupling or perhaps she's just happy that Dylan is taking the news of them being gay well. Dylan wouldn't say that he's accepting of their gayness at all, he just doesn't care. Once his mother is finally patched up from the injury she sustained from the accident- because she has to be hurt for her not to come looking for him by now- Linds and Mel will be a small blemish of his past. Once his mom straightens out everything, of course.

No, he doesn't care about Mel and Linds, or their lesbian love. He just wants information about this new parent. Not at all because he's never had a father and is secretly yearning for one, but because knowledge is power, and yatta yatta yatta.

"Just because we're lesbians doesn't mean you don't have a dad," she continues, turning off her phone. Dylan watches as his sisters and the man in the photo are replaced with a black clear screen before Melanie tucks it away in her pant suit pocket. "We had to make you three some way. As much as we go at it, we sure enough can't procreate by ourselves can we?"

Dylan hears himself shout, "WHAT!?" in a scandalous tone, all outrage and full of righteousness as if he's some virginal 18th century southern bell too afraid to broach the topic of sex for his poor delicate senses. As if his reaction isn't bad enough he feels shame and embarrassment wash over him like a bucket of hot water being tossed on his cheeks and neck.

Belatedly somewhere beyond himself and his embarrassment he hears the lesbians arguing. Lindsay saying things like _he's as innocent as a butterfly_ and Melanie reasoning, _he's a teenager, I'm sure Gus knows all about this._

This is almost as bad as the time when his mother found his spoiled undies in his secret hiding spot, deep in the closest his mom called the wasteland, and insisted on taking him shopping for new ones. Rachel went as well, saying she needed to pick up a few things, but instead his older sister spent the whole time teasing and cutting him down so ruthlessly, _so mercilessly_ , he hadn't be able to look her in the eyes for weeks.

This is almost as bad. Just almost.

Lindsay's hands are covering his ears, protecting his delicate sensibilities indeed while Melanie is prattling on about "the talk".

"We don't even know if he's even had THE TALK," Lindsay whispers back as if Dylan isn't sitting right between them, listening to them debate about protecting his virtue or arguing about his level of maturity.

All Dylan wants to do is melt into a puddle and be mopped away immediately.

Melanie chooses to address him this time. "With a father like yours Gus, I'm sure we won't have to worry too long about whether you've had the talk or not."

"MELANIE!" Lindsay screeches at the same time as Dylan yells his own name.

Both women turn to look at Dylan with confusion painted all over their faces.

He clears his throat a few times, feeling smaller than usual and a little nervous, as he clarifies, "My name is Dylan."

He watches as Lindsay's once picturesque face transforms into a look of bewilderment to one of agitation. By the time Dylan steals a look at Melanie, she's stony and blank faced, only her eyes move, bouncing between studying Dylan's for answers to unasked questions and shifting to her lesbian partner.

A knock at the door halts their silent exchange. Both women share a glance before Melanie yells, 'come in,' to their visitor. Of course, Ms. Montgomery walks in.

So much for staying on their good side, Dylan thinks sadly.

Author's note: Thank you for reading chapter 4! I'm so sorry for the delay- classes have been brutal and finals even more so. I'm on break now and ready to type til my little hearts content. Writing this story has been extremely hard for me- it sometimes feels like I'm pulling teeth. Just 2 days ago I said I was forever done with this fic because I was dreading to write a really important part that should of been in this chapter. But then I said 'fuck it' and I threw away my outline and guidelines and all of sudden this chapter started flowing out of my fingers. This chapter really helped me to shape some of my characters and the characters to come in ways that I hadn't planned. I'm very happy with this chapter and surprised by the length.

Happy Holidays and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hello?"

His eyes travel up to the overhead TV above the bar, broadcasting the Beijing weather channel. He's using the universal language of pictures in order to interpret the weather report. From his brief analysis, he believes it'll be another cold morning, but at least there'll be no ice. He might actually have a chance of returning to the Pitts. After a couple of planes slipped off the run-way due to excess ice from the storm earlier that day several flights were canceled.

"Hello?"

Weeks ago, Kinnetic was contacted by a new Asian company interested in hiring his advertising business to sell their latest product in the US. Arriving four days ago, he brought a host of board members and his right hand, Cynthia, to begin their international work.

"Brian, I know it's you," a voice much deeper than he remembers says. "You're using your cell."

Draped across the hotel bar, cradling his cell phone in one hand and nursing a glass of whiskey in the other, Brian croaks, "Sonny boy's back."

He can hear background noise with people chattering and moving about on the other end of the phone. Not like here, where it's quiet and dead, except for the TV and the bartender who keeps signaling its time to close.

Brian's not interested.

"Shit! Gus?" he exclaims from the other end. "Is he- hurt? Will he be okay?"

Brian tries to explain the explosion, the new international business deal, China, ice storm but he's cut off somewhere in the middle.

"Fuck, _this is so fucked._ You're working? Your son comes back after ten years and you're working?" The anger in his voice isn't brand new. It's being fed from the same storm that's been brewing for the last decade. It's the hurricane that's never been able to die down, never able to serve its purpose because _he_ took flight, because _he_ didn't want to deal with the confrontation.

It's been in hibernation ever since.

He continues on, old resentments interwoven within his words. "The limits you'll go to stay untouched and emotionless are laudable."

Brian sighs. "I'm on my way back home now from China. Got stuck in a snow storm," he says, eyelids sagging. He feels tired although he hasn't done anything but fuck around at the airport and get drunk at the hotel bar. "Gus, he's fine. Walking and talking and everything. Mel and Linds sent me a picture of him sleeping. He's so fucking big now."

"China? I heard about that storm on the news." In an even smaller voice, he responds, "Fuck, that was uncalled for."

Brian shrugs, knowing full well he deserves a lot more than a few heated words about being a crappy father.

"What time do you think you'll get back?" He asks.

Glancing down at his watch, Brian answers, "Your time tomorrow, no later than ten am."

Five years, sixteen hours, and two major fights are separating them, but it takes Justin half a second to reply.

"I'll meet you there."

Dylan hates that feeling he gets when he does something he shouldn't have. That icky sensation of guilt, whether he's been caught and punished or managed to escape detection, is awful. It feels as though a million and one moths are fluttering around in his insides, making his stomach twist and turn until he has to throw up. It's frightening how the body can turn against you.

He's not at the sick part yet, but if his emotions became too debilitating he's sure he'll find his breakfast covering his bed.

Ms. Montgomery, Melanie and Lindsay make pleasant conversation by the door, taking turns shooting him concerned looks and worried glances.

 _My name is Dylan._

He isn't exactly sure why he said it, although he supposes he must've been on his last leg of patience when he corrected Melanie. Whatever it was or is, he's fucked. Like, _seriously_ fucked _._ He wishes more than anything that he would have held his tongue for another measly two or three minutes, but he didn't. Now Dylan and his family are going to suffer the consequences of his rashness and loss of self-control.

"Did you hear that Gu… that?" Melanie asks, failing to avoid saying _Gus_ but also not giving in to calling him _Dylan_ yet.

Dylan shakes his head in response.

"Ms. Montgomery says that you'll be able to leave soon if you keep progressing the way you are," she says, walking over to the bed.

He feels the moths fluttering and probing the insides of his abdomen when he notices Lindsay isn't following behind her partner. For the first time since he's known her, she keeps her distance.

He doesn't know how he should feel about Lindsay keeping her distance, but it makes him feel bad; like he's betrayed them, like he's still betraying her. Of all the people in the world, he doesn't owe her anything, not a single thing. They're not his family.

Melanie continues talking, but Dylan is having a hard time hearing what she's saying. The moths fester in his stomach, but every so often they stray up his ribcage and he's afraid that at any second now, one of them will stray a little too far up and settle in his chest. That's the worst part because what follows next always results in vomit.

Grinning, she tells him, "The doctor will be in later to run some test. If he says you're okay then you'll be home by the end of next week."

Dylan finds no comfort in her smiles, because in less than a week he'll be released, but to what home?

His stomach lurches.

After finally touching down in at the Pittsburgh International Airport and getting to the terminal, Brian wastes no time as he jogs through the airport to get to baggage claim.

Even though Brian took a connecting flight in a small plane with about twenty passengers, the luggage staff still take fifteen minutes of his time to finally to place all of the luggage's on the conveyer belt, time that could've been spent in the hospital with his son.

Brian sends a couple text messages out to Michael, Linds, and Mel, and a tentative one, short and full of anxiety, to Justin.

He snatches up his small black suitcase and makes a dash for the exit. There's traffic around the exit door, lines of people waiting anxiously at the curb for their rides to arrive.

Brian doesn't do well with waiting around, especially now when he's yearning to meet his son again. Fidgeting mindlessly on his phone, skimming through the news, but luckily he doesn't have to do this long before he hears the familiar calling of, "Uncle Brian!"

When he looks up he sees his niece climbing out of a minivan, ignoring her father's orders to stay inside before running over to Brian and latching onto his waist. Wrapping her thin arms around his middle and locking her short legs around the backs of his knees.

Jenny Rebecca smiles brightly up at him. "I'm ten now!" she announces, her smile never faltering; if possible, it grows.

Brian grins down amusedly and pats her head. He's been so focused with Gus' return that he hasn't had time to think about anything but reaching his son and making sure that he returns to a perfect state of functioning after the accident. With guilt, he wonders if anyone else in the family also forgot about her birthday.

"Happy belated birthday!"

"Did you bring me any presents?"

"JR! You don't ask people for presents," Michael shouts as he climbs out of the minivan.

"My name is Jenny!" she yells back and then pouts. "How else will I find out if someone has gotten me a present or not?"

Michael ignores her, throwing his arms around Brian to give him a hug in greeting.

"Missed you!" Michael tells him happily.

Brian snorts. "I've only been gone a few months."

"Long enough."

Glancing over to the van, Brian sees the back doors open up and Sarah stick her little legs out.

Brian starts to say, "Sarah…"

"Ah, dammit!" Michael interrupts, turning around to try and spot the little girl. He spies her by the van and lets out a sigh, his heart beat returning back to normal. "I can't keep track of that kid. Lose her every time I take my eyes off of her."

Frowning, Brian says, "Maybe you shouldn't be telling her father how you frequently lose his kid." Walking over to Sarah, he scoops her up and cradles her in his arms. Kissing her cheek and ear in the process, he whispers, "I missed you the most, Little Red."

"I missed you the most," she says back.

With his daughter's small arms around him, Brian gestures for Jenny to grab his bag as they all head back to the van.

"What? The professor didn't want to join my welcome back party? Too busy making tofu concoctions and reading gay literature, eh?"

Rolling his eyes, Michael replies, "The professor is teaching."

Once they're in the car and finally driving away from the airport, Michael asks, "So, do you want to drop your things off at your place or should we head out to Ma's first for breakfast?"

"Actually, I think I should go to the hospital," he tells them, watching Sarah's expression in the rearview mirror. Her smile drops.

"But Uncle Brian," Jenny whines. "You'll miss breakfast and Grandma made a really big breakfast for you!"

Using the same whiny tone as his daughter, Michael says, "Brian, you should at least eat something before you visit him."

Brian shrugs. He hasn't had much of an appetite since he learned about his son's return.

"Can I go with you, Daddy?"

He shakes his head. "I don't think so, Little Red. Not this time."

"Are you going to come back to Uncle Michael's to get me tonight?" Sarah pipes up from the back.

With a teasing smile, Michael asks, "What? You don't like hanging out with us now, Sarah?"

She blushes. "I want to stay with Daddy."

"I'm not sure when I'll be leaving the hospital, but I promise if I don't come tonight, I'll get you tomorrow, okay?" Brian tells her.

"Okay."

"Although I'll be honest, I'm a little wary about leaving you in the care of someone who frequently loses you…"

"She's so quiet!" Michael protests as he takes the exit to Children's Hospital.

The three women leave soon after the announcement of Dylan's possible discharge. Melanie parting with a pat on his shoulder, Ms. Montgomery waving, and Lindsay shooting him another one of her worried/betrayed glances before following the social worker out the door.

Dylan doesn't waste any time climbing out of his bed to head straight to the bathroom, nor does he bother to close the door behind himself. Deciding instead to huddle over the toilet, afraid that at any moment he'll blow chunks.

He doesn't.

He waits.

Although he knows it's disgusting and unsanitary, he rests his clammy face on the surface of the porcelain toilet seat. Concluding from a very brief inspection, it looks clean enough, plus the exterior of the seat is cold, and it feels nice against his cheek.

Dylan doesn't know how long he sits there, lying with the side of his face pressed against the toilet seat. It could be seconds to minutes to hours when he hears the door to his hospital room open with a click and a creak.

"Dylan?" the visitor calls. "Are you in here?"

He jerks up startled and half awake, scrambling out of the bathroom because he knows that voice. He's lived in the same room with that voice, probably even shared a crib with that voice.

The flat lazy drawl of his brother... yeah, that's Cody.

Cody stands alone in Dylan's room, looking broader in the shoulders than Dylan remembers and leaning heavily against the door with his hands buried within his brown corduroy pants pockets. But that's as much as Dylan recognizes of his brother now, his posture and his voice. Everything that once was his brother has been stripped away and discarded, thrown away in a trash can and never to be seen again.

His brother's face is even different. Once lined with hobo man-stubble and black eye makeup is now clean and shaven. The greasy multi-colored bed-hair his brother sported daily has also been revised, remastered and restyled into a more polished look. Although the length is still ridiculously long, the strands are back to their natural muddy brown color but at least it looks freshly washed. Gone are the lively and vibrant eyes, which now look murky and apathetic, resembling a sort of dull gunmetal blue.

 _It's as if I've stepped into an alternate universe,_ Dylan thinks as he stares in horror at the ugly knit sweater Cody's wearing in place of his usual grungy band shirt. _New_ Converses as well.

This is not his Cody.

Dylan means to ask, 'How are you?' but what comes out is, "What the fuck are you wearing?"

A lazy grin travels upon Cody's thin lips, not quite reaching his eyes which are still too dull.

"A present from Mommie Dearest," Dylan hears his brother say, full of bitterness.

Dylan frowns. "Mom?"

 _She didn't_.

"She bought that get-up for you?"

 _She really wouldn't have._

Cody waves a hand at Dylan's question, dismissing the whole ordeal. "It's not important," he replies with a sigh.

Dylan wants to argue that any information his brother can provide on the topic of his Stepford transformation or Dylan's own mess of a life would be greatly appreciated, but Cody responds first.

"Are you okay?" his brother asks, gesturing to the bandages around Dylan's head and his injured arm.

Dylan almost reaches up with his good arm to touch them to see if they're really there or not. He sometimes forgets about the bandages but he lets his hand fall back down to his side when he hears his doctor's obnoxiously pompous voice in his head warning him about bothering the wrappings.

When he glances back into his brother's face, he sees that Cody's eyes are simmering with anguish, worry, and something else. It's the something else or maybe the mix of the three which has Dylan ducking his head down and charging back to his bed, just so he can avoid it.

Dylan doesn't reach the bed though, deciding at the last moment to veer off to the right and plop into the chair by the window, Melanie's chair. Cody follows suit behind him not long after, dragging the chair adjacent to the hanging TV and near the bathroom door, over to him.

Dylan thinks he might be able to bypass this line of questioning surrounding his own health and jump to the really important stuff. Such as how the rest of the family is doing, but nothing ever works out in his favor, he thinks, as Cody places his chair directly in front of his. He pins Dylan with a stare which he can only interpret as, _you're not getting out of this without talking to me first._

Dylan settles back into his seat with a shrug and says petulantly, "I'm living aren't I?"

"Yeah," Cody murmurs, slouching. Dylan watches as his brother's eyes flutter close as he runs a shaky hand through his fine strands. "Yeah, you are," he repeats. "Yeah, you are."

Staring into Cody's too pale face and raw looking eyes, Dylan tries to answer the question again, this time with the goal in mind to bring comfort to his anxious brother.

"Hey man, look, I'm okay," he tells him, even going as far as to grin, but Cody doesn't look at all convinced. "I'm all good."

He jostles about in his mind to figure out something else to say, something that will really nail the point in that he's okay, that he'll get better. "They even told me that I'll be able to leave by the end of next week because I'm doing so well." Not quite a lie, but not exactly the truth either.

There's still a slight tremor of anxiety vibrating down the outline of his brother's form, but Dylan can see that he's managed to alleviate some of his worry.

"I just didn't think it would be this bad," his brother admits quietly. "I knew you were hurt, but I didn- I didn't know you needed brain surgery." Running another shaky hand through his hair. "Shit," Cody repeats a few times.

"It's not that I don't have hope of him one day remembering us. I just- it's just," Mel says, stammering. She's trying really hard not to come off as 'the less caring mother' in front of the social worker, but that's near impossible when you're competing with someone like Lindsay. Sprouting sermons every five minutes about lost things once being found. Her flowery rants just as poetic as any of Baudelaire's stanzas.

Melanie can't help it that she's not naturally attuned in speaking in the sort of flowery way in which Lindsay possesses, making non-sensible metaphors and analogies every five to ten minutes. She's too concise and brief, which may or may not be a result of her chosen career path. And she especially can't help it if her practical and logical side is out weighing her hopefulness.

They're seated next to each other in front of Patricia's wide oak desk, enclosed around bland white walls and blue colored carpet, receiving counseling, but Mel feels more like she's awaiting punishment in the principal's office rather than in a meeting with the hospital social worker.

"I just don't want. I don't think- I should get my hopes up for something that may or may not happen," Mel finishes off lamely.

"What's the harm in hoping?" Lindsay asks, restlessly. "Hope doesn't cost a thing, so why not invest in it? There's numerous studies of children remembering horrific traumatic events in their lives from a very young age. Gus was just about to turn four when he was kidnapped. It's not like he was two or turning three. He was about to go to preschool. He knew how to tie his shoes. He could recite the alphabet up to the letter 'M'."

A fond smile finds its way onto Lindsay's lips and Mel sighs. "He knew things. He remembered things. Yeah, I do hope, because I honestly what's the harm in hoping."

Maybe for Lindsay there wouldn't be, but for Mel… It's always been a well-known fact to her that practicality stings a lot less than misplaced hope. The reality is that there's a strong chance their long lost son's memories won't resurface and that's okay, she thinks because those are the facts.

The first day when Gus finally awoke after his major surgeries comes to her mind. His beautiful familiar blue eyes gazing over them with detachment as if they were misplaced strangers instead of his rightful family. The look on his face when they informed him, kindly and patiently, of their true identities was like communicating with a feral animal. Mel will never forget the shiver that grazed her form at his devastating cry and his frantic questions about his real family, for his real mother.

Or when Lindsay made a wrong turn and called his "mother" a kidnapper. The way in which Gus had thrown those words back into their faces with a vicious sneer and hate dripping from his eyes had Mel backing out of the room and running back to her office like a coward.

" _The only kidnappers in this room are the ones I'm looking at right now."_

No, Mel covets no hope in her heart of her son one day remembering them. The chance is too low and the odds too great.

"Lindsay, you're right, it's not uncommon for adults or teenagers to remember trauma from a young age," Patricia says, interlacing her fingers.

But Gus wouldn't just remember the moments when they made homemade mint chocolate chip cookies or how she sang to him at night, but the ugly too. The love they shared as well as the kidnapping which ruined everything.

Who would want their child to remember their own kidnapping?

If Melanie had to choose between Gus remembering the days she spent taking care of him when he was sick _and_ his kidnapping or nothing at all.

She would always choose the latter.

Melanie isn't perfect. She isn't a selfless parent or even a great mother. God only knows the few hours she spends with the two daughters she has at home, but she would never wish unnecessary suffering onto her own child. A few years of love isn't enough to counter the memory of being snatched away from your own front lawn.

"But it's not something that is guaranteed," Patricia continues. "Which I believe is where Melanie is coming from with not wanting to commit her hope to something that might not happen. But whether Dylan remembers or doesn't, I think right now it may serve us better if we start making plans for once Dylan is discharged from the hospital, like how are you going to re-introduce him to your friends and family members? An even bigger point to consider is how are you going to talk to Gus about his family and what happened to them?"

"Patricia, you've given us a lot to consider," Mel says, feeling overwhelmed.

"No- I just. I just don't feel comfortable calling them _his_ family," Lindsay says, running a hand through her hair, tugging viciously at the roots. " _We're_ his family. We'll always be his family."

"I'm so sorry for calling them his family," Patricia apologizes. "I would imagine that it's still difficult to think about your son growing up with a group of people you didn't know or want around him."

Mel and Lindsay both nod, grasping hands.

"Honestly, I just don't think we need to tell him at all about what happened to those people."

"Lindsay!" Mel exclaims in alarm. "Wait a minute! I don't agree with this. He needs to know."

"Well, yeah. We'll tell him one day but not right now. It's not appropriate. He's just getting out of surgery. Things are going too fast. He just met us. It would be too much for him, hell, it's too much for me."

"Obviously, this is about you and not our son," Mel states, removing her hand from her partner's. "You don't want to tell him because you don't want it to take away from the relationship you're trying to build with him."

A horrified look appears on Lindsay's face. "That's not fair. Don't make me out to be a villain! You know this is way too much for a boy his age to have to deal with. We shouldn't- as his parents- we shouldn't put him through this. I'm not saying we'll never tell him but we can wait a little while longer."

"Unbelievable! And if he asks us? Do you expect me to lie?"

Lindsay sighs. "I would hope that we would put up a united front...I just don't feel comfortable telling him right now. Piling on the death of those people on his tiny shoulders would be too much for him. It would be cruel. He just needs to come home, get settled and be surrounded by family who love him, first."

Mel waves her hands around wildly at the incredulity of her wife's reasoning. "Throughout this whole time-What? Let's say a month or so goes by- you don't expect him to ask about those people at all or what? You expect us to lie to him for that long. It would destroy any trust or relationship we built with him. You can't build a relationship based off of lies. He'd never forgive us."

Mel and Lindsay fall quiet in contemplation. Patricia chooses this moment to cut in.

"I'm hearing from both sides a lot of wanting to protect Dylan from experiencing anymore pain either emotionally or physically, which is very natural reaction for a parent especially for the situation in which we are in currently," Patricia says, addressing Lindsay. "But at the same time Mel brings up a good point as well- What if Dylan wants to know about the welfare of the people he cares about? I feel, unfortunately, that this time has already come. Dylan asked me directly about them and asked if I could get permission from his guardians, you two, so I could disclose what happened."

Mel starts to say, "Well in the case…."

"Absolutely not," Lindsay cuts in with a deep frown. "I stand by my decision; I just don't think it's right. I don't think he's ready to know." Staring challengingly into her partner's face she says, "We either keep this from him for a little while longer- just until he leaves the hospital or we have Brian be the deal breaker. Which one?"

"It's not a big deal. Small brain bleed in the back of my head. Its fine now," Dylan answers casually. Frowning, he thinks, a little too casually, because any type of brain bleeding is a big deal in Dylan's book, but this isn't about him right now.

For the most part, Cody buys his bullshit with only a slight narrowing of his eyes. "What about your arm then?"

With a lopsided grin, Dylan says in a conspiratorial voice, "Apparently bookcases can strike not once but twice as well." Referring to the bookcase in his room responsible for his head wound and sprained arm.

"This is funny to you, eh?" Cody says with a growl, voice still low, but his gunmetal blue eyes flare up with unreleased fury. "It must be hilarious to you then being in this fucking hospital or that everyone in our family was hurt, some more so than others…."

"I didn't mean that-" Dylan tries to cut in, but his brother's voice rises over his own.

"If you think that's funny then you'll just _die_ when you hear this; When I finally came back home that night, I found our house in ruins. Nothing there but roasted wood and fire. Nothing. Imagine finding your family like that, being pulled out of a burning house, maybe that'll give you a few more chuckles."

"Well, it's your fault."

Dylan didn't.

Dylan wouldn't say something-

Dylan doesn't think this.

But the words fall so easily from his chapped thin lips. _It's your fault_. He doesn't think this. It's not true. He wants to take the words back just as soon as they're born, but his hands glide through them like sand. Desperately, he tries to scratch and claw the words back into his mouth, but like a bee on a mission, they stubbornly make their way into the world of existence.

His brother's eyes go wide and dangerous. Dylan finds himself leaning back in his seat, just to gain some additional space.

"You think this is my fucking fault?" Cody asks, quiet and deadly, like the beginnings of a storm.

Logically Dylan should say, 'No', and then promptly apologize. That's what his brain tells him to do, but something unleashes deep within himself. A seed, perhaps, of righteous anger plants itself in the heart of his chest. He can't take it back, because he won't take it back. It's the truth.

"Yeah, I think this is your fucking fault," he yells. "It's always your fucking fault. None of this would have happened if it wasn't for you. If- if you- if you would've just brought your lazy ass home when you were supposed to, none of us would be in this hospital. Rachel wouldn't have had to go downstairs in your place and screw things up with her know it all self, if you would have just come home. "

"How was I supposed to know this would ha-" his brother starts to say, but Dylan cuts him off.

"You want me to feel sorry for you now? You want me to comfort you again? I'm the one who had brain surgery," he shouts, feeling heated and angry as he leans closer into his brother's face, fist clenched. "I'm the one in this hospital bed who hasn't seen mom or heard any news about any of you because that fucking useless social worker won't tell me anything."

Breath labored, but still fuming, he continues, "I'm the one whose life is in shambles. I'm the one," pointing a finger into his chest. "Who's surrounded by strangers who-who…."

Dylan wants to explode. He wants to explode so damn bad. He wants to pound his fist into someone or something. His muscles are aching to release, and it doesn't help at all looking into his brother's hopeless face. Noticing his gray skin, dead eyes or his protruding collar bones, because he just wants to be angry, because anger feels a lot better than the alternative.

Dylan has never had such homicidal thoughts in his life against a family member, well except for Rachel, but that's normal….For a minute he entertains a short fantasy of placing his brother in a small house and having it explode from the bottom up. Just so he can understand. Just so he can see how it feels.

A little time has passed and Dylan's still upset but he's no longer in the mood to shout and he isn't in danger of committing murder or exploding on anyone. _Thank goodness_.

Cody won't even look at him. For some reason that seems to piss Dylan off even more.

"So how's everyone?" Dylan ask in a surly tone. "How the fuck is mom by the way? Thanks a lot for keeping me in suspense. How is she?"

"Dead."

Dylan's first instinct is to lash out on his brother and to tell him to stop joking around, until he notices the desperation in his older brother's eyes. The absolute anguish at having to deliver the monosyllabic answer.

The room feels too hot. It's way too hot in here. He's only wearing the thin hospital gown, but it feels like he's in the savannah and overdressed.

"Mom and Rach are dead. I was there when they pulled out your bodies. Mom and Rachel didn't even make it to the hospital. Dead on sight." The hollow sob that heaves itself from Cody's thin frame sounds as if someone is dying.

Dylan turns away, his own eyes prickling rebelliously and his heart lodged in his throat. He struggles to breathe when he thinks about the ramifications of his brother's words. His mother? Rachel? Dead. It's not possible. It's not real.

"We didn't have enough money in the account for a proper funeral. I had to cremate mom. There wasn't much of her left. Rach was taken away. She might have been buried. I don't even know."

None of this is real. He closes his eyes and wishes to be anywhere else than here. Dylan no longer feels interested in hearing anymore of what Cody has to say.

But Cody continues on, in between bouts of crying and sobbing. "Mattie hasn't woken up yet. Had brain surgery like you did but he's a lot worse off. He's near dead now, I heard the doctor's say outside his room. They aren't sure he's going to make it. His little body has-"

"Just stop fucking talking to me," Dylan demands, cutting his brother off.

Dylan opens his eyes and comes face to face with impossibly wide eyes and a hurt look splashed across Cody's face.

"Dylan," he pleads, tears running down his face. "We're the only two left. Shannon's been discharged. A family took her away, out west. Mattie is practically dead. Mom's gone. Rach's gone. It's just you and me. Little bear and big bear," Cody says softly, reminding Dylan of one of their oldest childhood games.

Dylan shakes his head. "Get out," he says forcefully, having heard enough. He can't breathe sitting so near his brother. He can't think….

"We've got to stick together now. We're the last of the fam-"

" !" He yells even louder. Dylan stands up from his chair and with his good arm, grabs a hold of Cody's skinny wrist. He's just about to yank Cody out of his seat and chuck him out when he hears the door open with a loud bang and people rush in.

Dylan assumes that the people he'll see at the door will be Lindsay and Melanie, but his eyes instead find a short plump nurse with a soccer mom hairstyle. With her hands perched on her hips and a face that screams business. Behind her, dressed in a brown leather jacket and button up navy shirt, is the same tall man he remembers seeing this morning on Melanie's phone. Brian. He's supposed father.

He's tired. Tired of the changes. Of the news. Of the deaths. Of the new people in his life. He can't handle anymore right now.

Dylan turns away, just as soon as their eyes meet.

"Sweetie," the nurse calls from the door. "Is this boy bothering you?" She asks, her accusatory eyes directed towards Cody.

Yes, he is, he thinks, but who isn't?

He releases Cody's wrist. Staring straight into his brother's eyes and says, "Yeah, he is."

The woman makes her way into the room and gestures for Cody to leave. "Alright young man, you heard him. He doesn't want to be bothered with you. You need to give him some space. Plus his father is here and I think they would like some time alone, don't you think? Hmm."

Cody doesn't listen to a word she says. He stares back into Dylan's eyes, betrayal and pain hiding behind the deep blues. "You're my little brother," he whispers.

Dylan remembers those same words echoed back to him many years ago.

 _Watery blue eyes stay stuck to the door, watching in horror as the only neighborhood he's ever known flies by in a flash. Clawing desperately against the handle, he sobs for his mothers, for his father, for anyone to come and rescue him._

 _No one listens._

" _Shh, it's okay."_

 _There's another boy, another kid in the van with him. A bit older with pudgy cheeks and icy blue eyes sitting next to him. Locked in a car seat with a sippy cup. From time to time the other kid says this but he doesn't pay him any mind, until he feels his hand being pulled in the opposite direction._

 _Yanking away, he screams, "Let go!" Like he should've done earlier. Like he was taught to scream a while ago when bad strangers try to lure kids away, but everything happened so fast. Within the span of 30 seconds, he was stolen from his own front lawn and placed inside of a mini-van while his parents argued from inside._

 _Whirling around, he glares up at the other kid with red swollen eyes, still trying to take his hand back._

" _Shh, it's okay," the other kid tells him over and over. "You're safe." Blue against blue, minute by minute the screams and sobs from him begin to die until there's only a few sniffles as he finds comfort in the other kid's presence within the near silent van._

" _You're my little brother now," the other kid tells him. "I'm going to be a really good brother to you. I promise. I'll never tease you or hurt you or anything. I'll take care of you forever," the other boy says with a proud grin, puffing out his chest and peering down at him. "Forever," he promises._

He throws up.


End file.
